


One Golden Winter

by Miragefiction



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Post-Golden Deer Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22056241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miragefiction/pseuds/Miragefiction
Summary: After the war, time is running out for Lysithea von Ordelia, that is until she is given a royal commission to perform crestology research at the newly reopened Garreg Mach Officers Academy. With the help of old friends, she hopes to find a way to save her own life, and perhaps find love along the way.Based loosely on Lysithea & Cyril’s paired ending card
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	1. Prologue ~ Special Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> Not technically a part of my Golden Dawn / Claudeleth series, but takes place within that timeline directly after “Trouble in Paradise” (in fact this prologue here is identical to that story’s epilogue) and within the events mentioned in “Royal Correspondence” however those stories are not required reading before diving in here. The only things you need to know are that it’s set about 1-2 years post Golden Deer / Verdant Wind route, Byleth is Archbishop and married to Claude who is now King of Almyra. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea receives a letter some friends in high places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new ongoing multi-chapter fic from me that isn’t focused on Claude and Byleth?? Yup, you read that right. Don’t worry though, they will probably make an appearance at some point. This is primarily Lysithea’s story, with a generous helping of Lysithea x Cyril. A bit more of a rare pair this time... I hope you enjoy!

The Ordelia family home was a modest estate that had seen better days. The garden was slightly overgrown, creeping vines covering the fence and one side of the building almost completely. The stone walkway had cracked and grass was boldly sprouting between the stones, but despite the neglect, it was still rather picturesque. It appeared that the family had long since dismissed their gardener and other servants, but they seemed to live well enough despite their apparently dwindling means. 

Lysithea was reading intently at her desk one afternoon when a knock came at her bedroom door.

“Lyssi dear, there is a messenger for you,” her mother called. 

“Hmm?” Lysithea mumbled, not looking up from the stack of scrolls scattered in front of her. 

“A messenger, dear. For you.”

“Oh, just set it there, Mother,” Lysithea said waving vaguely at another stack of papers off to her left. 

“Lysithea!” Her mother said sharply, making her jump. “He’s at the front door. He insists on seeing you, personally.”

Lysithea groaned. “What? Why now? I’m busy!”

“Come now. It seems urgent, and he’s got a uniform and everything. Tidy yourself and hurry down. I’ll let him into the parlor.” 

Her mother closed the door with a little more force than necessary and the sound of her hurried footsteps echoed back up the stairs. 

Lysithea sighed, annoyed. She stoppered her inkwell and tossed aside her quill roughly in irritation. “What’s all the fuss about a bloody messenger...?” 

She gave a cursory glance at herself in the mirror and brushed the crumbs off of her skirts before reluctantly leaving her room. 

She stomped down the stairs and through the hall to come to a sudden and complete stop in the parlor door. 

A slim young man in a familiar and impeccable black and gold uniform stood in the middle of the room. He turned towards her and her heart seemed to drop into her stomach and then up into her throat with shocking velocity. 

“Cy-Cyril!”

He smiled, warm brown eyes lighting up his usual sullen expression. “Lysithea. It’s good to see ya.”

She gaped at him a moment, wishing she had changed her dress.

Her mother, who had brought in a tea tray, looked between them. She cleared her throat.

Lysithea started. “Ah! Oh, it’s g-good to see you, too, Cyril” she stuttered. “You look... Ah... The uniform suits you.” 

He grinned. “Thank you.”

Lady Ordelia set the tea tray on the table between them. “You two know each other?” 

Lysithea nodded. “Oh, um, yes from Garreg Mach. And the war. We uh... We were friends. Are friends.”

Lady Ordelia raised an eyebrow at this. “I see... Well, are you going to introduce me?”

Lysithea stumbled through a cursory introduction and Cyril bowed politely. “Pleasure to meet ya, ma’am.”

“You’re a student at the monastery?” Lady Ordelia asked. “I wasn’t aware they had even reopened. Such a shame what happened...”

“It’s the first year students have been allowed back after the reconstruction,” Cyril said with another nod. “It’s looking pretty good now, if I don’t say do myself. Took a good bit of elbow grease, though.”

Lady Ordelia smiled uncertainty. “I imagine so. I’m afraid didn't catch your surname. What house do you hail from?”

“Oh, well, my family is from Almyra,” he answered with a shrug. “They don’t have a house or much else, being dead and gone these last fifteen years.”

“Oh! Oh my... My apologies. A-Almyra, you say?” She asked, clearly a little flustered at such an answer. “W-well, the new king himself was born there wasn’t he? We are truly living in a new age.”

“Mother!” Lysithea hissed through her teeth.

Cyril continued, not appearing to be bothered in the slightest. Perhaps he was used to such ignorance at this point, well-meaning or otherwise. “It’s a privilege to be attending the academy. Prof—err—Archbishop Byleth personally sponsored me,” he said. “I worked for Lady Rhea before the war.”

Lady Ordelia looked a little impressed, glancing between her daughter and him again. “Indeed? My, how splendid. Please sit. Do you take sugar in your tea?”

He nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Why are you here?” Lysithea said suddenly, in a much more accusatory tone than intended. “Ah, I mean — Mother said you had a message for me?”

“Oh, right! Here.” He pulled a pair of scrolls out of his pack and handed them to her before accepting the offered tea cup and sitting down. “Their Majesties send their regards. Open the smaller one first.”

Lady Ordelia’s eyes went wide. “Oh my! From the king and queen themselves? Lyssi, how lovely!”

“Mother, we went to school together. You can’t be that surprised...” Lysithea said, but she took the scrolls with some trepidation. She stared at the heavy pair of royal wax seals, one for Fodlan and one for Almyra, overlapping along the edge. “So official. If this is some weird prank of his...” she muttered. 

Cyril said nothing, just sipped his tea politely. 

Lysithea used a letter opener from the side table to pop open the seals and unroll the first letter. The contents read as follows:

~~~

“Dear Lysithea,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and humor. 

I told you once in the past that the Royal House of Fodlan could not support your anti-crest research, at least not openly, and unfortunately that much has not changed — not while we are still trying to curry favor from the remaining Imperial and Kingdom lords. I had hoped things would be progressing more on that front, but I’m afraid these things take time, or so my advisors would lead me to believe.

However, the Royal Family of Almyra would like to reward you for your good service. Your work on Byleth’s poison-detecting necklace saved not only her life, but the life of our unborn child as well. For this, we send our most sincere thanks. You really are a genius. 

Please find a formal letter of commission and patronage attached. I’ve contacted a few other crest scholars to join in on your research, and we are re-opening the laboratory at Garreg Mach. It will be ready by the time you receive this. Please put it to good use, though we kindly request your discretion in this matter.

Thank you again. Sincerely.

Your friends and comrades,

Claude & Byleth

P.S. - No, this isn’t a prank. 

P.P.S. - We hope you like our choice of messenger. We gave him the week off. Enjoy.”

~~~

Lysithea was not prepared for the rush of about twenty different emotions flooding into her after finishing the letter. Her face must have showed some alarming mixture, as her mother rushed to her side. “Oh, Lyssi whatever does it say?”

Ignoring her, Lysithea opened the second letter with trembling hands. The documents packed inside certainly appeared official, and included a truly astounding number listed at the bottom. 

“Lyssi, what is it?” Her mother asked urgently. “You’re scaring me!” 

Lysithea simply buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @evelynn_carver


	2. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea decides to embark on a new chance at life, but not before having a few important conversations

Lysithea had finally calmed down and explained things properly to her mother, and then had started crying all over again when her mother burst into tears as well. A royal commission and an official position doing real crest research at Garreg Mach... It was a dream come true.

Lady Ordelia had excused herself to go freshen up, and Cyril and Lysithea stepped out into the garden to get some air. It was a clear, cool afternoon in late Autumn, and all around them leaves were falling sedately, vibrant red and orange in the afternoon sun. 

“Are you really alright with all of this?” Cyril asked.

“Of course I am all right... I’m so happy!” She said, wiping her eyes as she sat down on an old wooden bench. “It’s just... a little overwhelming and all. I... can’t believe it.”

“It’s great, right?” He said with open enthusiasm. “You’ll be back at the monastery! It will be awful nice having you around again.”

She blinked at him, hesitating before agreeing. “Oh, yes, I suppose so...”

He noticed her pause, and watched her for a moment. “I... I should have written to tell you I was coming. But... Ah... I never got a response to my last letter. I was a little worried...”

She sniffed and looked away. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been... busy.”

He sat down beside her on the bench. “You always were.”

She sighed and laughed a little. “Had to stay on my toes to keep up with Claude and the rest of the Deer. Er... I suppose I should call him His Majesty? Goddess, that’s never going to not be weird...”

Cyril laughed. “I know, right? Now the professor, she’s right Queenly, though. Of course, no one can replace Lady Rhea but... You can see why folks follow her. You can tell she’s the real thing, Goddess-blessed and all.”

Lysithea pursed her lips. “If you say so...”

He turned to look at her squarely. “You’re real pretty, too, though.”

Lysithea scoffed, but turned red as a beet just the same. “Please don’t compare us.”

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

Lysithea sighed. 

“I... I really missed you,” He said softly. 

She looked up a him. “... I missed you, too.”

He smiled and shuffled his feet a little, shifting his weight on the bench. “Hey, uh, I know it’s a bit early and all,” he started, “But I wanted to tell you... When I graduate I’m going to be promoted to knighthood. Seteth pretty much guaranteed it, as long as I keep my grades up and there’s a spot open, which is pretty likely given the numbers after the war.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Cyril! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“I never could have done it without your help, all those years ago. So, thank you.”

She smiled weakly, looking away again. “Of course. That’s... That’s what friends are for.”

“Lysithea.”

The serious way he said her voice made her flinch a little. He took her hand. 

“I thought we were more than that. Was I... wrong?”

She reddened, feeling her throat go tight. “... No. I’m sorry. We were... We are more. I’m just... Cyril, my crests—“

“Look, I know, I know,” he interrupted before she could go on, “And, well... When I’m out of school and knighted and all, uh, I... I won’t be able to buy a big fancy house like this or anything, but I’ll have a good job. Respectable. I wanted to ask if you—“

“Please don’t!” She said suddenly, stopping him. “Please... Don’t ask. Not now.”

He paused, watching her, then took a deep breath before speaking again. “All right. I won’t ask you now... But I will in a few moons, after graduation. So... Please think about your answer. I won’t take silly excuses.”

“S-silly?” She grumbled sourly, “Cyril, I won’t live—“

He cut her off quickly. “I know. I don’t care about that. I mean, of course I care, but... Clau—err— the king and archbishop just gave you free reign and full funding for at least a year to do your research. I know we can find a way to help you.”

She blinked up at him in surprise. “...We?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know that much about crests and all that, but I have learned some things. And I’ll keep learning, whatever I can. And I’ll help in whatever other ways I can. Cleaning up, fetching things, all that. Whatever you need, I’ll be there.”

She felt tears pricking her eyes again. “I... I see. Thank you. I will... Think about what you said.”

He nodded. “Good.”

She squirmed a little, uncomfortable. “But... What if we don’t find a cure. What then? Will you ... still...”

“No matter what happens, I’ll still want you by my side... For as long as I can. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Lysithea smiled weakly, face flaming. “You are very determined.”

“I am.” He nodded. “So... Can I kiss you, at least?”

“Oh! Um...” She glanced around nervously, checking to make sure her mother wasn’t peering out the back door at them. “... Yes. Yes, you may.”

He raised her hand and kissed it gently, making her tremble. Then pulled her closer and leaned in, kissing her for real this time, a soft press of warm lips against hers. 

Lysithea sighed into the embrace. It was really very lovely. 

He leaned back first, leaving her floating for just a moment. 

“I think your mom is watching us,” he said with a soft laugh. 

She jumped back, looking around. “Oh Goddess...! Where?”

“Up there,” he said, nodding.

She looked up just in time to see the curtain swing closed in the upstairs bedroom overlooking the garden. 

“Oh by the saints! She’s such a busy-body!” Lysithea said with a wince. “I’m so sorry...!”

He laughed again. “I don’t mind. She seems nice, if a bit behind the times. Do you think she’ll approve? Or will I be sent packing?”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “She’d probably approve a sack of potatoes if I showed any interest.”

He snorted. “Gee, thanks!”

“Th-that’s not what I meant. She’s just... always wanting me to get out and talk to people. Go to town and parties and things. As if I have time for that nonsense.”

He nodded. “You really should get out more, though.”

“Don’t you start! I’m outside right now, aren’t I?”

He grinned. “Fair point. But I bet you want to go back in, now?”

“In a bit. I’ll let my mother stew for a while.”

They sat there in the sun for a long moment in companionable silence.

“Can I help you pack?” He offered. 

She sighed and nodded. “Yes. Let’s get started.”

—

He stopped in her doorway, stunned. “This... is your room?”

Besides her predictably cluttered desk, the floor was covered in stacks of books, papers, and empty plates. The bed was unmade and there were clothes draped over her chair and bedposts, and a stack of at least three teacups sitting on the windowsill. It was, quite frankly, an absolute mess. 

She scowled at him. “What? We don’t have servants here anymore.”

He frowned. “You can clean up after your own self, you know.”

“I don’t have time for that,” she grumbled.

He crossed his arms. “...Maybe I should rethink my offer to help you after all.”

“Oh, come on,” she muttered. “It’s not that bad.”

He sighed. “It’s a good thing the monastery has so many cats.”

She squinted at this seeming non-sequitur. “Huh? Why?”

“Because of all the rats you’re going to attract with this mess.”

She swatted at him. “Oh hush!”

He rolled up his sleeves. “I guess we better get started.”

—

It took most of the afternoon and some of the evening to clean the room and pack her things, and after a small supper, Cyril left to go back to town where he was boarding for the night. They would depart for the monastery tomorrow morning, bright and early.

It was late that evening Lady Ordelia knocked quietly and let herself into her daughter’s bedroom. “Lysithea, dear... I think we need to talk.”

Lysithea, who was sitting at her now tidy dressing table brushing her hair stopped in mid-stroke and took a deep breath. She had been waiting for this. “Yes, Mother?” 

“Now, I know this is a great honor to be commissioned by royalty, Almyran or not, and you’re a woman grown and can make your own decisions...”

Lysithea crossed her arms and leveled her mother with a glare. “That’s right.”

Her mother continued, undeterred. “... But I just want you to know that I... Your father and I... We just want you to be happy.”

Lysithea blinked at her, surprised. “Mother?”

“Your work is important, I know, but really we just want you to enjoy your life, however much time you have left. Going back to the monastery... That Almyran boy... If that, if he will make you happy, please know you have our blessing.”

Lysithea found herself a bit breathless. “...R-really?”

Lady Ordelia nodded. “Of course. All this is actually rather timely. I didn’t want to upset you, but your father was at the barrister’s office today.”

“...Whatever for?” Lysithea asked nervously.

Her mother sighed. “We’ve sold the estate and our titles.”

“Wh-what?” Lysithea gasped. “But where will you live?”

“We found a little cottage in the village. It’s... cozy. Things would have been a bit tight for all three of us. So, perhaps it’s a blessing you’ll be living at the monastery again.”

“Oh... Mother...” Lysithea said, tears rolling down her cheeks again. She scrubbed her face irritably. 

Lady Ordelia embraced her. 

“Hush, we will be fine! I’m excited about it all, actually! We will be closer to town and I’m donating much of our old things to the rebuilding efforts. There’s so many people in need after the war. If we can help, even a little...”

Lysithea hugged her tightly. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

“Of course. Now, about the boy...”

Lysithea leaned away quickly. “I’d rather not talk about him.”

Lady Ordelia laughed gently. “He seems quite fond of you. And you of him. Why haven’t you told us about him before?”

Lysithea sighed, sniffling. “It’s... it’s not that I was hiding anything. We became friends when I was at school and he was working for Lady Rhea. And then we met again during the war. We were close... But it’s not like it was anything... Serious.”

Lady Ordelia raised a prim blonde eyebrow. “Really? I saw you in the garden, you know.”

Lysithea blushed. “I know. I can’t believe you, Mother. Spying on your own child.”

“I was simply being a good chaperone. And a good thing, too. He seemed rather... ardent.”

“Mother! He... He was very polite, actually.”

“Oh really?” Lady Ordelia asked coyly, “Was it your first kiss?”

Lysithea looked down at her feet. “It... It wasn’t.”

“I didn’t think so. So... you and he... before...?”

Lysithea shrugged helplessly. “Well, before... During the war... we saved each other, so many times... It just kind of... happened.” 

“My! How romantic.”

“I... I guess.” Lysithea said softly. “I do like him, quite a bit, but... I didn’t think... he had real feelings for me.”

“But he does?”

She nodded slowly, blushing. “It... seems so. He practically asked me to marry him earlier.”

Lady Ordelia gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Oh Lyssi!”

“Don’t get all excited! I didn’t let him ask, not really. I’m not ready for that, not yet. Besides... things are complicated, you know?”

“Oh! Oh, but... Oh, that would be lovely, wouldn’t it?”

Lysithea shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I mean... But... I don’t really understand him.”

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated for a long moment, hands wringing her skirts. “Well... He says he doesn’t care about my crests, or that I might not live very long... But can he really mean that?” she said slowly, her voice low and sad. “I’d just be wasting his time when he could be enjoying life with someone else. I don’t even know if I can have children, or if I would want to... if it meant I’d just leave them behind...” 

Tears spilled over her cheeks again. She just couldn’t stop crying today, it seemed. 

Her mother drew her into another gentle embrace. “Now, now... Don’t worry about all that. You’re free now - to choose who you want, whoever they are, on your own terms. You don’t need to worry about passing on some noble lineage. Please... please just live for your own happiness. If I can give you anything at all in this world, I want you to have that.”

Lysithea buried her face in her mother’s shoulder. “You really don’t mind, about him?” she asked carefully. “He’s not from a noble family or anything.”

Her mother laughed a little sadly. “Well, neither are you, not anymore!”

Lysithea blinked at her then smiled. “... I suppose you’re right.”

“And besides, if an Almyran is good enough for the Archbishop, who am I to complain?”

“By the saints,” Lysithea grumbled, palming her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter @evelynn_carver


	3. Little by little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea begins her research at Garreg Mach with the help of some old friends (and enemies?). Cyril tries to help, too, but will she open her heart enough to let him?

It was almost shocking how quickly things went back into a familiar and easy pattern living at Garreg Mach. Of course there were plenty of things that had changed since the last time she had lived there. She was housed in the faculty wing, for one, and had to teach at least one seminar per week. Other than that, she studied in the great library, took her meals in the dining hall, and traversed the same mighty halls of the ancient building day by day. Some bits of the place had been recently repaired, fresh brick and mortar stark against old dark stone, some completely new, and some that had miraculously survived the war with nothing more than a few faint scorch marks. 

There were plenty of familiar faces around, as well. Seteth had been appointed headmaster, and he oversaw not only the school but the newly renamed order of the Knights of Unity. Flayn was there as well, of course, attending formally as a student once again since her first year had begun late and had been so rudely interrupted with kidnapping and war. She was the same as ever, perhaps a bit unnervingly so.

Lysithea felt a bit odd not wearing the uniform. All of the other students from her year that had remained at Garreg Mach until the attack by the Imperial forces all those years ago had eventually been awarded diplomas, but they never had final exams or a real graduation ceremony. 

She found herself listening in on a few lessons here or there and feeling nostalgic, even with the changes. The three houses system had been retired, and a new diplomacy curriculum put in its place. Classes were dictated by a specific course of study instead of rank or origin, and students rotated through the professors of each speciality. There were students from all walks of life attending in abundance, former nobility and common folk alike. 

In many ways it was a breath of fresh air to see new life in the old place. Sometimes though, out of the corner of her eye, Lysithea thought she saw someone she knew, a student long dead and gone. It sent a silent shiver down her spine, but she simply held her head upright and walked a bit more quickly. Those were ghosts whom she’d long become well-acquainted.

The new lab that The Almyran royal family had donated was generous, but needed quite a bit of setting up and arranging to meet her exacting standards. 

There was so much still left to do, and so little time... Graduation was only a few moons away, after all. She had promised Cyril a real answer, and to arrive at that she first had a few prerequisites of her own to fulfill.

There were also her research partners to deal with. 

Professor Hanneman, the obvious choice for her mentor, had arrived back at the academy moons before she had, resuming his teaching role with an air of faint obligation. She caught him smiling often when he thought no one was watching, though.

“I’m not sure if these children will be the death of me or if they’re keeping me young,” he confessed to her one afternoon. He was excited, almost alarmingly so, to collaborate with her on crest-removal research. 

Unfortunately Professor Manuela had left the academy to help refugees in the old imperial capital, and had her own small school now operating out of the opera house there. Honestly, Lysithea was a little relieved she was not one of the research partners Claude and Byleth had recruited for the cause. Still, she wished Manuela the best.

Her replacement came at a bit of a surprise to some, though. 

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Cyril grumbled, looking across the lab with a scowl.

Lysithea followed his gaze to the tall, prim young man looking through a stack of books at the back of the room. “Who, Linhardt?” she asked. “You know him, don’t you?” 

Cyril nodded, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah. But wasn’t he an Imperial?”

“He defected. He’s quite knowledgeable about crests and healing magic, actually, and the Professor vouched for him so I’m inclined to accept her judgement,” she explained impatiently. “Not to mention he’s contributed a good amount of money to our funds, too... So don’t be rude.”

Cyril’s expression didn’t change, but he said, “I won’t if he wont.”

“Here, can you put these away on that shelf?” She said, pointing. “I have to go back to the storage room to get another set of beakers and tongs.”

He took the box of glassware from her. “Claude has about a dozen sets stashed away in his old room under the bed, you know.”

“What... Wh...” she paused and shook her head. “You know what? I don’t even want to know.”

With that, she hurried off. 

With a resigned sigh, Cyril approached the shelving at the back of the room. Linhardt pointedly did not acknowledge him. 

“Hey,” Cyril said without inflection. 

Linhardt turned and regarded him cooly. “Hello,” he said, soft voice even and clear. “Samuel, was it?”

Cyril bristled slightly. “It’s Cyril.”

Linhardt blinked slowly. “Apologies,” he said, in a way that was anything but apologetic. “You’re a student here now, I see.”

Cyril shrugged. “Yup. And you’re a teacher now, apparently.” 

“Apparently,” Linhardt repeated, sounding resigned. “I suppose I will see you in class, then.”

“Yup.”

They stared at each other sullenly for a moment. 

“I’m going to put these up there now.” Cyril said finally, nodding at the shelf. 

Linhardt moved out of his path. “Go right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

Linhardt turned back to his books as Cyril set the contents of the crate neatly into their places.

“So...” Linhardt said slowly, as if testing the waters. “You and Miss Ordelia, hmm? She’s a bright one, isn’t she? I must say, I’ve never studied a subject more intriguing.”

“She’s not a lab rat,” Cyril said darkly, turning back to him with a scowl.

“Indeed not. She’s much lovelier, indeed.”

Cyril leveled him with a glare. “Back off, will you?”

Linhardt smiled blandly. “Oh, don’t worry, she’s very interesting, and very lovely, but I’m not interested in her, if you catch my meaning.”

Cyril squinted at him, only irritated further. “Why not? You think you’re too good for her or something?”

Linhardt shrugged. “Oh no. While I do regard myself in fairly high standing, that’s beside the point. If I must set your puerile jealousy at ease... I’m seeing someone else.”

“Someone else?” Cyril’s skepticism was rather obvious. “Who?”

Linhardt sighed. “Caspar von Bergliez.”

Cyril blinked, his anger deflating instantly. “...Oh.” He thought a moment. “Really? That guy?”

Linhardt nodded. “Indeed.”

Cyril paused, then asked. “...Why, though?”

Linhardt’s expression broke into a real smile. “A question I ask myself often.” He looked back down at his book with an air of flat dismissal. “So, if I have assuaged you, I would appreciate if you would please direct your scowl elsewhere. I am rather busy.” 

“Yeah, well...” Cyril grumbled. “Good!”

Lysithea returned with another crate of supplies and the ice in the room thawed slightly. 

“Thank you, both of you,” she said with a grin. “We’ve almost got this place setup nicely, haven’t we?”

—

The days passed and Lysithea studied and worked like a woman possessed. She hadn’t made enough progress, not nearly enough, but she hoped what they had accomplished so far would lay a solid foundation for further research. She had always worked alone, so working side by side with Linhardt and Hanneman was a bit of an adjustment. She tried to retain an open mind to their ideas, but she found herself occasionally pushing back against their involvement. This was her problem, after all, and they were just interested because it was just that - a problem to solve, interesting academically, not personally. How could anyone else really understand the stress she was under? She was constantly worrying that she would get sick again... And this time she wouldn't get better. How could two healthy, naturally talented people really understand that at all? 

Still, it was nice to have someone looking up references for her and get books down from high shelves. However, she really hated it when they talked about her like she wasn’t even there. 

“Transfusion could be an avenue to explore,” Hanneman was saying as he stared wistfully at the blackboard. “But it would need to be a prolonged treatment. Is it possible to replace all the blood in one’s body? Infection seems imminent, and the stress on the patient would be substantial.”

“We could prepare an antiseptic solution,” Linhardt suggested. “And run consecutive waves of treatments over time. But of course, we would first need to find a blood donor, not to mention someone who would be a match. If we combine her blood with another crest-holder’s it could potentially be quite dangerous.”

“Do you know anyone who could be a possible match? We can’t exactly start taking samples from the students,” Hanneman said, then paused. “Can we?”

Linhardt looked up at him with one quirked eyebrow.

Lysithea took that as her cue to finally interrupt them. “No, we can’t start taking samples from the students,” she said firmly. 

“I’ll volunteer,” Cyril said from the door. 

Lysithea did not miss the slightly blood-thirsty gleam in her colleague’s eyes. She shot to her feet. “Oh no, you certainly will not!”

“What?” Cyril said, looking a bit disappointed. “Why not? If it would help you, I want to do it!”

“Not like that!” She said sharply. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt because of me.”

“It would only hurt a little,” Linhardt interjected, smiling darkly. “And only very briefly.”

“You stay out of this!” Lysithea snapped. She turned back to Cyril, pushing him back towards the hallway. “Let’s talk about this later. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

They walked out the door and into the hallway, leaving Hanneman and Linhardt conspiring in front of the chalkboard.

“Class let out an hour ago,” Cyril said. “Weren’t you supposed to meet me in the dining hall?”

“Oh, shoot!” She said, “I’m so sorry! I must have lost track of time. Want to go now?”

“I already ate,” he said flatly.

She sighed. “Oh, Cyril, I’m sorry...”

“It’s okay. But you missed out. They made your favorite dessert today.”

She slumped against the wall. “Of course...” she grumbled, covering her face. “Of course they did.”

When she opened her eyes, there was a plate of of cake in front of her.

“Oh!”

“I brought you some.”

“I... I see,” she mumbled softly, feeling her cheeks go pink. “Thank you.”

They stood in the hallway as she ate, and after eating she felt considerably better. Or perhaps it was the company. 

“You know,” he said after a short silence, “They are having a winter ball next moon.”

She paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth and set it back on the place. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah,” he said, then paused. He glanced over at her and she smiled so he continued. “You wanna go with me?”

She glanced up at the ceiling. “I’m not a student anymore. Is that appropriate?”

He gave her a look. “We’re the same age. And you do remember the Professor and Claude dancing together back then, don’t you?”

“I repeat, is that appropriate?” 

He laughed. “Aww, who cares? It’s a new world, right? Breaking barriers and all, commoners and noble folk mixing it up. We oughta set a good example.”

She laughed too, and it felt good. “Okay, okay. Sure. I’ll go with you... But only if you promise to steer clear of my research partners for a while. They’re likely to go straight-up vampiric if you give them another chance.”

He sighed heavily, as if put upon. “Ah, geez. I guess I can’t argue with that.” 

She smiled at him and he smiled back. A warm lightness in her chest bloomed and the faint flutter of happiness that passed between them made her look away in embarrassment. 

One evening off couldn’t hurt, could it? 

“Well,” she said softly, “I guess it that’s settled, then.”

“Yup,” he said taking her hand. “It’s a date.”


	4. Making Wishes and Taking Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night of the winter ball, Lysithea puts her hair up. Cyril makes a wish. Flayn plays a little bit of matchmaker. Linhardt takes a chance on an old theory.

The days got colder and darker. Holiday garlands were strung throughout the monastery with care, every archway and stairway lined with festive greenery and ribbon. Despite storms beginning to blow outside, inside the old stone walls everything was lit with warm golden candlelight. Fires were set to blaze in every hearth through the day and into the night and the hot steam from the sauna was sending cloud after cloud into the cold winter sky.

It was practically cozy for a dusty old tomb, Lysithea thought. 

The night of the ball came quicker than she thought. She barely had time to have her mother send along one of her nicer old dresses trimmed with new ribbons. Thankfully it still fit well enough when she loosened a few laces. She carefully pinned up her hair into a style Hilda had once shown her and stared carefully at her reflection. 

“Not bad,” she mumbled. 

She felt oddly nervous about this whole event, her heart beating like a fluttering butterfly as she plucked at herself in front of her mirror. She hadn’t felt this nervous when she attended the ball while she was in school, but then again, back then she didn’t have a date. Back then, she hadn’t really cared one way or another. The whole thing had been just a silly distraction from her studies. 

Now though, she found herself suddenly caring very much. The sensation was slightly uncomfortable.

Cyril knocked at her door at half-past seven, efficient as always. She took a deep breath and opened the door to greet him.

“Wow! You look nice! Real nice,” he said, eyes wide as he looked her up and down. 

She laughed, and very nearly snorted. “Oh, well, thanks. You don’t have to act so surprised, though.”

He laughed. “I’m not! Just... Impressed.”

She shrugged. “Well. You look... nice, too.”

He did. She had seen him daily in his everyday uniform, so she was surprised that seeing him in his dress uniform felt so exciting. The cut and decoration was just different enough, fancier and important somehow. It made him look older, grown up, in a way that caused her heart to race. Had he always been so tall? And where did he get those shoulders? 

She caught herself staring and looked away. 

“You ready to go?” He asked, offering his arm.

She nodded and took it. 

—

The ball was a bit different this year. There was not as much food for the feast as before (there was a shortage going on in the surrounding villages after all), but the music was less formal, the dancing more enthusiastic, and more people seemed to be laughing and singing along. Seteth was still glaring at couples getting too friendly on the dance floor or elsewhere, but everyone seemed to be having a lovely time. She was, too. She never danced so much in her life. 

And Cyril was a surprisingly good dancer. 

They danced long into the night, and when they finally broke away from the party, it was dark and cold outside. He held her hand tightly in his and she felt warm and safe and tired. 

She didn’t want the night to end.

They walked aimlessly, chatting and laughing about nothing in particular until they came to the entrance to the Goddess Tower. 

“Want to go in?” He asked with a grin. 

She balked for just a moment, then nodded. He was with her, after all. She felt fearless tonight. 

They carefully stepped over vines and loose stones and through the darkened hallway into the inner chamber. There was still significant damage to the roof and upper floors, so the moonlight shone through the vines with a surprising vibrance. 

They stood together looking out over the moonlit expanse of the monastery grounds for a long time. 

“Are you going to make a wish?” He asked softly. 

She paused. “I... I don’t think so.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Really?” 

“I don’t like leaving important things up to the whims of the Goddess,” she said softly. “I’d rather make things come true myself with my own power.” 

He smiled, then turned to look up at the moon again. “Yeah. That sounds like you. I’ll wish for both of us, then.”

She glared at him, but it didn’t hold much heat. “How do you know what I would wish for?”

He shrugged. “Just guessing.”

He didn’t say anything more than that. She watched as he closed his eyes. The sight of profile in the moonlight felt like something she wanted to remember, all square jaw and dark lashes. He’d really grown so very handsome. 

And he was still holding her hand. 

After a moment he opened his eyes and turned back to smile at her. 

“What did you wish for?” she asked nervously, glancing away. 

He squeezed her hand. “I don’t have any big lofty dreams like Lady Rhea or Claude... I just wished for a little happiness. More time. With you.”

Her heart and stomach seemed to switch places momentarily. “...Oh.”

He pulled her close. “Is that okay?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“You look really pretty right now. With your hair up... Your ears are cute.”

“My ears?” She scoffed, blushing even harder as she reached up to touch one with her free hand. “Did you drink that punch? I think Catherine may have spiked it when Seteth wasn’t looking...”

He shrugged. “Naw, I just like you. A whole lot.”

When faced with such openness she could only blush and stammer. “Oh... You’re... Sweet.”

He leaned towards her but stopped, their noses nearly touching. “I want to kiss you. Can I?”

She nodded again.

He kissed her warmly, and she could swear she did taste a little of that punch on his mouth. It didn’t matter though. He had gotten rather good at this kissing thing, too. 

She melted into his embrace, winding her arms around his shoulders and kissing back with equal eagerness. At this he made a soft hum of pleasure and deepened the kiss, warm lips open and inviting. She eagerly accepted the invitation. 

The touch of his tongue against hers made her shiver. A ticklish, hungry feeling sang through her and she kissed him deeply, openly, breath tight with wanting. 

He broke away for a moment, breathing hard. “Mm... Oh... I...”

Her arms were still around his shoulders, and his hands were on her hips. She felt warm and fuzzy and more than a little daring. “Why’d you stop?”

He looked down at her with sharp brown eyes, face flushed. “I... I want to do more than just kiss you.”

A tingle went through her body and she tensed, but asked, “O-oh? Like what?” 

He took a deep breath. “Like... Like put you up against that wall,” he said in a rush. 

Her face was flaming now, but she found herself unable to stop talking. “A-and then what?”

He swallowed hard. “I’d... I’d push up your skirts and—”

She kissed him again, desperately pulling him against her.

Startled, it look him a moment to respond, but then they stumbled and practically fell against the wall. The stone was rough and cold against her back but she didn’t care. He was so very warm pressed up against her, warm and so very full of love, or maybe it was just lust... She didn’t care in that moment. For the first time in a long time she felt alive. The desire coursing through her felt like a blessing, a gift. 

“Hello? Anybody in here?” 

The deep, accusatory tone of Seteth’s voice echoed through the tower. 

Lysithea and Cyril sprang apart like startled rabbits.

Scrambling, they ducked behind a pillar just in time to hide as the older man stode into the space they had been occupying just moments before. 

“Hello? If there are any students in here...” Seteth said loudly. “Well, there better not be!”

Lysithea had to cover her mouth so she didn’t let out a sudden fit of giggles. This wasn’t funny at all, she thought dimly. Cyril could be expelled. She could be fired. But the warm flush all over her body felt so good that she could barely contain herself. Cyril seemed to having similar troubles, trembling with barely suppressed laughter at her side. Goddess, they were going to be caught for sure!

“Brother!” Flayn’s piping voice called. “Whatever are you doing?”

Startled, Seteth turned to her in surprise as she entered. “Flayn! It’s very late! Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Oh foo,” she said lightly. “It’s a lovely evening and the ball just ended. It was a wonderful time, wasn’t it? Though I do wish you would have let me dance more.”

Setheth grumbled something unintelligible, which caused Flayn to laugh. “Oh, you worry too much!”

“I’m just making sure no one is up to any tomfoolery in here. There’s this silly legend about making wishes, but the boys just use it as an excuse to get a girl alone.”

“How romantic!” Flayn sighed. 

Seteth blustered again at this response. Gave the room a cursory glance and then and stomped off to some other part of the tower. 

As the sound of his footsteps receded, Lysithea felt the tension in her body relax slightly.

She ventured a cautious glance around the pillar and made sudden and complete eye-contact with Flayn who was standing there staring pointedly in their direction. 

They stared at each other for one long panicked moment before Flayn’s small, pale face broke into an angelic smile paired with a slow, deliberate wink. 

Startled and confused, Lysithea disappeared back behind the pillar and held her breath. 

“Brother!” Flayn called, and for a white hot second Lysithea was sure they were in for it.

Seteth came back into the room with a sigh. “Yes, what is it?” 

“I’m very tired now,” Flayn said sweetly with what sounded like a very exaggerated yawn. “Can you walk me to my room, please?”

Setheth swiftly acquiesced they left together, walking back out into the courtyard and into the night. 

A few minutes later Cyril and Lysithea crept out of hiding and broke into a run as they continued towards the dormitories in the other direction.

Gasping for breath they collapsed into one of the benches out front. 

“I think,” Lysithea laughed, “We owe Flayn quite a debt.” 

“Tell me about it,” Cyril said, wiping his brow. “Did I tell you she helped me learn how to dance?”

“Oh,” Lysithea said, surprised at herself for the trickle of jealousy that flowed through her. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to embarrass you at the ball by stepping on your feet.”

“I... I see.”

They were silent for a long moment. The thrill of the events of the night had started to wane, and it was very cold. She shivered slightly and he put his jacket around her. “Thank you.”

“No problem. Um... About before...” Cyril said slowly. “Sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

“D-don’t apologize,” Lysithea said softly, blushing deeply. She wasn’t soon going to forget the sensation of his body pressed into hers, his hand sliding up her thigh. “I...I got a bit carried away myself.”

He reached for her hand again, and she welcomed the feel of his fingers threading between hers.

He cleared his throat. “Ah... It’s not that I... I mean... I do want you, you know. But ah... I think wouldn’t mind seeing you in a pretty white dress first, too.”

She turned impossibly redder. “We really don’t have to bother with all that nonsense.”

He looked over at her, expression full of worry in a way that nearly broke her heart. “You... You don’t want to?”

“I... I didn’t say that,” she said softly. “But... Remember our agreement? After graduation...?”

He looked visibly relieved. “All right then. Sorry... Just feeling a little impatient, is all.”

She felt a sudden and intense stab of pain in her chest, her head swimming. She swayed and put a hand to her face.

“Hey, are you all right?” He asked, startled. 

She winced, but took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, thoughts all a jumble. Not now, not now, please!

“I’m just... Just a bit tired.”

She tried to stand and nearly fell over. 

“Woah! Woah, hold on there!”

He caught her. 

“Oh... I don’t... feel so good...” She mumbled, and promptly collapsed against him. 

—

It was a few hours before dawn when Cyril rushed Lysithea into the infirmary. Linhardt was rudely awoken and set to examining her at once, his robes thrown on over what were clearly his pajamas. Hanneman was summoned and joined them immediately after, his face grim and serious and hair all askew. 

Lysithea’s heartbeat was shockingly erratic, her breathing shallow and weak. She was pale and clammy to the touch. She looked positively dreadful laid out on the infirmary cot, her lovely ball gown hidden under a thin, scratchy cotton sheet and hair white falling in messy waves around her pale, drawn face. 

“What’s wrong with her?” Cyril asked, for what felt like the millionth time. 

Linhardt didn’t look away from his notes when he replied. “It’s her crests, of course. She’s had these sort of attacks before, but they’ve never been this severe. At least, according to what she described to me.”

“What?” Cyril balked. “What attacks? She’s never mentioned them to me before!”

“She probably didn’t want to alarm you, son,” Hanneman said. “You know how private she is about these sort of things.”

“Well, yeah, but... This...” Cyril said weakly, “Can’t you help her?”

“You think we haven’t been trying all this time?” Linhardt snapped. “It’s not a problem you can just spell away. Now get out of our way so we can work.”

Cyril bristled, but Hanneman stepped in and took him by the shoulder, gently leading him away to stand out in the hall. “I’m sorry, son. We are doing our best, but we need time and space to work. We will take care of her... the best we can.”

“Fat lot of good that’s done for her so far,” Cyril snarled.

Hanneman frowned, but just said, “We’ll send you word when there’s a change.”

Cyril snorted and stomped off. 

Hanneman watched him go and let out a long breath before returning to the infirmary and closing the door behind him. 

“Well, have you run those samples from earlier?” he asked.

Linhardt nodded tiredly. “Unfortunately neither of us is a proper match.”

“Dammit,” Hanneman grumbled. “We have to do something!”

“We need more samples. Perhaps if we asked the Archbishop’s permission to—”

“We don’t have time for that!”

Linhardt took a deep breath and sighed hard through his nose. “There’s another solution I’ve been considering.”

Hanneman turned to him in surprise, taking in the uncharacteristic expression of concentration on the younger man’s pale, even features. 

“You’ve been holding out on us, old boy?”

“Not exactly,” Linhardt replied softly. “There is just another avenue that I have been hesitant to explore.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense now.”

Linhardt set his scrolls down on the table and turned to face him. “I’m afraid it’s not up to me.”

Hanneman frowned. “Who then?”

Linhards mouth quirked into a small smile. “Have I ever told you my theory about St. Cethleann?”


	5. Dreams and Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lysithea dreams of the past, Linhardt and Flayn talk about legends, and just when a possible solution is in sight, things get a little bit more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The middle part of this chapter heavily references Flayn and Linhardt’s support conversations, so hopefully that doesn’t put anyone completely in the dark... Also warnings for blood and panic attacks.

She felt very cold, cold and numb and her whole body ached. She struggled to open her eyes, but failed. There was something warm and large against her back, it’s texture rough and hard and moving with the almost the familiar cadence of breathing. She realized with a start it was actually breathing, and that was enough to startle her into consciousness. 

Smoky fires were burning low in the distance and people were shouting, running, fighting. She was on the edge of a battlefield somewhere, propped up against the belly of a wyvern, one of its huge leathery wings shielding her from the falling ash. 

“Lysithea!”

Cyril ducked under the wing and knelt at her side. “Here, drink this!”

He pressed the cool surface of a tin mug against her lips and she drank without thinking, almost choking when the contents were thicker and more bitter than she anticipated, but somehow she got it down. Her vision cleared slightly. 

“Cyril...”

“Don’t talk. Just rest. You’re safe here for now.”

“The-the battle...” she managed, “Did we win?”

“Nearly. Claude and the Professor have got last of them on the run.”

She struggled to sit up. “I can help...”

He pushed her back down. “Take it easy for once! You practically blasted a whole battalion by yourself,” he said, looking exasperated and impressed all at once. “And you took quite a hit back there. You’re lucky you’re even alive.”

She looked down at herself for the first time. There was blood covering her legs and the front of her dress, so much she could barely make out the original color. There was a great, messy black burn along her midsection, half covered in soaked bandages. Upon noticing this, her chest suddenly went tight in panic. She started to shake and cry. 

“Woah! Easy now!” He grabbed her by the arms. “You’re fine. You’re okay! Did you get hit on the head, too?”

She couldn’t stop shaking, and she felt dizzy and sick and suddenly incredibly scared. “Oh goddess... Oh, I c-can’t breathe...!”

“You’re okay!” he repeated, sounding half panicked himself. “Marianne said! She said you’d be fine, but... Maybe I should find her again—”

She clutched at him, vision blurred with tears. “Don’t leave me! I-I don’t...”

He stilled. “I won’t leave you.”

“I d-don’t want to die. Not yet!”

“You aren’t dying, damn it!” He said loudly, hugging her tightly. “I won’t let you!”

She shook her head, almost defiant. “But I will!”

He took a deep breath. “...I mean, eventually, yeah. But not today.”

This dry response was so matter of fact, she was shocked into stillness for a moment. Then she let out a soft, painful burst of laughter. 

He sagged in visible relief. “See? You’re definitely okay if you can still laugh.” 

She buried her aching head against his shoulder. He smelled like sweat, smoke, and blood but she didn’t care. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. After a long moment the pain in her chest receded slightly and her body began to relax. His grip on her lessened, but he didn’t let go. 

She had stopped shaking. 

“Better?” He asked softly.

“A little,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, leaning back to look at her. “You’re... fine.”

His face was very close. Their noses were almost touching and he was still holding her in his arms. His hair was blown back and dirty, the scar on his forehead pale and stark against his skin. She was suddenly struck by how very nice his eyes were, a warm amber under dark, serious brows. 

Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward and kissed him. 

He went still for a moment, then sat back, red-faced and blinking at her in surprise. “Wh... What was that for?”

She was blushing now, too. “I... don’t know. I just wanted to.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “Uh... Is your head okay?”

She did still feel awfully lightheaded. “... Maybe not.”

“All right then,” he said, carefully picking her up. “Let’s get you to Marianne so she can take a look at you again. And maybe feed you. You weigh about as much as a wet paper bag...”

“Oh!” She muttered, squirming, “Y-you don’t have to...”

“Just hold still, will you?” He said firmly, “Unless you wanna get dropped.”

She went still at that. “...Th-thank you.”

He glanced down at her, then out over the battlefield before starting to walk. “And uh, maybe let’s try that again when you’re feeling better.”

“Try what?” She asked, then when he rather pointedly didn’t answer she turned red again. “Oh! That. ... S-sure.”

She allowed herself to be meekly carried off of the battlefield and settled onto a cot in the medic’s tent. He sat beside her and waited until Marianne came. 

She fell asleep still holding his hand. 

When she woke up again sometime later she still felt pretty terrible. Hadn’t Marianne healed her yet? She should have. Maybe something went wrong and she had been delayed elsewhere... 

Lysithea opened her eyes and looked blearily around the room. 

Room, not tent. 

They were in the monastery infirmary and the sky outside the windows was dark. She blinked slowly. How long had she been out? 

“Lysithea?”

She looked up to find Cyril sitting beside her bed. He looked different, cleaner and... 

She squinted at him and asked, “What... what are you wearing?”

He blinked at her, then down at himself and his rather rumpled looking dress uniform. “Oh, I guess I shoulda changed but I didn’t want to leave you too long. Are you okay? You scared me...” 

She felt so dizzy, and it was hard to breathe again, like there was someone sitting on her chest. “What about the b-battle?”

He frowned at her, dark brows furrowing. “Uh... what battle?”

“At Gronder... did we win...?” She mumbled. “The Professor, is she all right?”

“Gronder? Uh... Yeah, we won,” he said slowly. He turned and called behind him. “Hey, Professor...? She’s awake but... Confused.”

Professor Hanneman leaned over her, startling her as she had been expecting a completely different Professor. He squinted down at her, adjusting his monocle to look at her more closely.

“Miss von Ordelia, do you know what year it is?” 

She closed her eyes and thought for a long moment. “Oh... I don’t...” she mumbled, then slowly details began to slide into place in her mind. “Oh... It’s... The war. The war is over, isn’t it?”

The two men exchanged a slightly relieved glance. “Yes, that’s right. Do you know where you are?”

“The monastery. Garreg Mach. Oh... We were at the ball...” she said softly, her mind clearing a bit more. “I... I fell...?”

“You’ve had an attack of some sort,” Hanneman explained. “Young Cyril here brought you in and Professor von Hevring and myself were able to stabilize you.”

She closed her eyes again and then slowly began to cry. “Oh... Oh no... Not now. Not yet!”

Cyril squeezed her hand. “H-hey now... Don’t freak out... You’ll be okay.” 

“I won’t, though. N-not this time... I should have worked harder. I should have—”

”Stop that,” he said firmly. “You’ll be okay. You gotta be...”

She choked on a sob and shook her head. 

Cyril looked away, up at Hanneman with a pleading look. “Can’t you do something?”

Hanneman shook his head worriedly, then looked around. “Where in the blazes did Linhardt go?”

—

Linhardt was in the cathedral attending morning prayers for the first time in his adult life. He approached Flayn as she prayed in the eastern alcove right as the sun was coming up through the stained glass windows. If it was any other time or circumstance he would have admired the rather picturesque view, but currently he found himself resenting the sunrise like an old enemy. 

Flayn took her time, ignoring his presence rather pointedly even though he could tell by the tension in her shoulders that she knew he was there waiting for her.

Finally, she released her clasped hands and turned on her heels to meet his cool gaze with her own. She held his eyes for a moment, face serious, before breaking into her usual sunny smile. 

“Hello, Professor von Hevring. It’s unusual to see you up so early. Come to pray your worries away?”

He gave her a tight little smile. “Not quite. Do you have a moment, Miss Flayn? There’s a matter of some import I need to discuss with you.”

Her eyes hardened slightly, but her smile didn’t budge an inch. “Of course.”

“Let’s step out on the balcony, shall we?”

She nodded and followed him as he led the way and opened the door for her.

Moments later they stood near the railing, looking out over the monastery grounds in less than companionable silence. 

“This isn’t more nonsense about me having your children again, I hope?” Flayn began a little too lightly. “You’re very lucky I never told my brother about that suggestion.”

Linhardt looked over at her, blinking. “Hmm? Oh indeed not, I beg your pardon for such a presumption. I was young and desperate back then.”

She frowned slightly, her delicate brows tilted downward. “You don’t have to put it quite like that...”

“Apologies, I’m running on very little sleep,” he said with a yawn. “My request this time is however somewhat related... To our mutual crests of St. Cethleann, I mean.”

Flayn sighed. “Go on, then.”

“I've done quite a bit of research since we last discussed the topic,” he said slowly, not meeting her eyes. “I found some very interesting pre-war accounts in old personal journals in the estate back home before I absconded.”

“Oh? Interesting, you say?” Flayn asked. “How so?”

“There was one account that intrigued me in particular regarding a plague in my ancestor’s village. It was said that St. Cethleann performed a ritual on a woman that day and saved her life. She was the only one to survive... My great, great, great, great a few more times grandmother. They say she lived an unnaturally long life, but disappeared one day quite mysteriously.”

Flayn was feigning polite interest, he could tell, but her jaw was set. “Indeed? What a charming little story.”

He turned to level her with a look. “A story, yes. If only such a thing were true... They say St. Cethleann had healing powers beyond measure. What use could such powers be put to in this day and age...”

Flayn sighed, her politeness quickly fading in the face of his pretension. “What exactly are you getting at, Linhardt?”

He got to the point. “I’m afraid it has to do with our friend Miss von Ordelia. She’s suddenly taken quite ill.”

Flayn’s eyes widened in shock. “I... I hadn’t heard. Are you sure? I just saw her last night at the ball!”

“She was brought to the infirmary before dawn. She collapsed in the dormitory courtyard. I’m afraid the prognosis does not bode well.”

“That’s... Thats certainly troubling,” Flayn said, looking legitimately distressed. “And you’re asking for my help? As... As a healer?”

“Well, involving someone with a major crest of Cethleann like yourself certainly couldn’t hurt,” he said. “But really we could use your help with something more specific. Miss von Ordelia, Professor Hanneman, and myself have designed an experimental treatment. We could use your assistance.”

“E-experimental treatment?” She said, but hesitated only a moment. “I’m not sure what use I’ll be, but if Lysithea is truly ill... Well, of course I will do what I can to help.”

“Splendid. If you will you accompany me to the infirmary...?”

She nodded and scurried after him, following every one of his long loping strides with several smaller ones of her own. 

—

When Linhardt and Flayn entered the infirmary Hanneman and Cyril converged on them immediately.

“She’s awake!” Cyril hissed, “Where have you been?”

“Ah, I see you returned,” Linhardt replied dryly. “I was getting help, of course.”

He nodded at Flayn who bobbed her head anxiously. “How is she?”

“She comes in and out of consciousness,” Hanneman said softly. “I’m afraid there has only been minimal improvement.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Lysithea said weakly. “I’m right here.”

She blinked at them blearily as they came to stand at her beside. She looked very frail and pale, but her eyes were open, just barely. 

Linhardt leaned over to look at her more closely. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” Lysithea said.

“Have you been able to eat anything?”

She just shook her head, then stopped and groaned. “I feel so... very dizzy.”

“Oh, Lysithea... I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well,” Flayn said gently, laying a small hand on her cheek. “Oh, you’re very cold! We should get you more blankets.” 

“I’ll get them!” Cyril said and rushed to do so, leaving the three mages standing in an uneasy clump. 

Hanneman patted Flayn gently on the shoulder. “Thank you for coming. Has Professor von Hevring filled you in on the details...?”

She glanced at Linhardt then down at Lysithea again for a long moment before looking up again. “He said... You need my blood.”

Hanneman nodded seriously. “We believe Miss von Ordelia requires a full transfusion over the course of several days or weeks. For now, we’d just need a sample from you to determine if you’re a match.”

Flayn wrung her hands together. “I... I want to help, I really do, but... My blood...”

“It won’t be very painful, I promise—“

“No, it’s not that,” she said softly. “It’s just... My blood... It has certain... properties. It’s... dangerous.”

A look passed between Linhardt and Hanneman over her bowed head. 

“Yes, I believe we have discussed that... potential,” Hannenan said carefully. “Professor von Hevring... he is aware of how your blood was used after your kidnapping by the death knight.” 

She looked up at them then, eyes wide. She turned to Linhardt now, anger bubbling under her normally genteel expression. “You... You know what they did... With my blood?” 

“Yes,” he said solemnly. “It was one of the many reasons I chose to leave the empire.”

Her anger faded slowly. “Really?” 

Linhardt nodded, looking pained. “Emperor Edelgard... She... I wasn’t able to make her see...” he paused and took a deep, steadying breath. “The atrocities she was committing... No matter the cause... I... I couldn’t take part. I couldn’t stop her, either. I’m sorry.”

Flayn’s face grew grave again. “So you should understand, then, why I can’t help you this way.”

“But the story —“

“It’s just a silly fairy story,” she said, but her voice was weak, as if her heart wasn’t really fully committed to the denial. “It’s... it’s just a...”

“But our shared crests, your major—“

“I wish I could help you but I can’t!” Flayn said, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “I just can’t!”

“Now, now!” Hanneman said, taking her hand. “We certainly cannot force you. It is your choice, dear.”

“And we would be very careful, you know,” Linhardt assured. “The details of your involvement would never leave this room. I certainly don’t intend to participate in the same reckless violence we all just escaped in the war. We hope instead to... Well, perform a miracle.”

Flayn sniffed. “A... miracle?”

Linhardt nodded again more firmly. “Yes, with your help.”

Flayn wiped her eyes and looked down at Lysithea again, who met her gaze and smiled weakly. “Don’t let them bully you, Flayn,” she said softly. “We don't even know if it will work. It’s a million in one chance you’re even a match... So you can do whatever you feel is right.” 

Flayn took another deep breath and sighed. “I’ll... I’ll think about—” 

It was then that Cyril returned with an armful of blankets and Seteth hot on his heels.

“Ah... Shit,” Linhardt whispered.


	6. The Darkness that comes Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth puts his foot down. Flayn is defiant. Byleth makes a fateful appearance. But will an intervention from the Archbishop-Queen be enough to save Lysithea? Or will someone have a change of heart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on updates! I was out of the country for a few weeks in Japan and bought a lot of FE3H merch! 
> 
> Hopefully I’ll finish this fic in the next week or so! It hasn’t gotten a lot of attention (to be expected of a rare pair I suppose) but if you’re enjoying it, please leave a comment and let me know! <3

Seteth slammed the door of his study closed, sending an echoing crash throughout the entire corridor. 

Flayn stood in front of him, tearful and pale. He took her in his arms. 

“Now, explain to me again just what you think you were doing? I ought to send the lot of them out of their ears, propositioning you—“

“It wasn’t like that!” Flayn cried, wrestling out of his grip. “It’s Lysithea! They just wanted my help—“

Seteth glared down at her coldly. “They wanted to defile you. Flayn, the blood of our ancestors is sacred. You cannot, you will not allow yourself to be drawn into such a shameful—“

“She’s dying, Father!” Flayn yelled, voice high and thin. 

At that, he paused and took a deep breath, pacing the length of the room several times before stopping in front of her again. “The circumstances of Miss von Ordelia’s illness are very tragic, I am aware. I allowed the crestology facilities at Garreg Mach to be reopened because of that, not to mention the personal requests of the Almyran royal family and the Archbishop. However, my generosity does not extend to the involvement of my own child in dangerous experiments!“

Flayn shook her head vehemently. “They just needed a sample. I may not even be a match!”

“Flayn, you should know by now that sharing Nabatean blood is forbidden for a reason. Humans don’t understand, they can’t handle the power. Edelgard used your blood to create monsters. Rhea’s experiments may have been done with good intentions, but... They were wrong, too.”

“Her experiments helped create Professor Byleth, though!”

Seteth shook his head. “Humans and crests... They were an abomination from the start. The professor... Archbishop Byleth is an exception,” he said firmly. “Rhea and the whole of Fodlan have suffered the effects of sharing our blood with humans.” 

“Father, I know, but—“

“There is no ‘but’ Flayn!” Seteth said with obvious strain as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forbidden is forbidden! I do not fault you for having a soft heart—“

“A soft heart?” she said with exasperation, “Father, my friend is dying! She’s dying and if I can help, even a little—“

“You will not defile yourself, not for the sake of anyone do you hear me? Not again. Rhea — no, Seiros — thought she could save humans from themselves, and look what happened to her! We can’t, we won't meddle in human affairs anymore! Not like that!”

Flayn was silent for a long moment, looking down at the ground with her hands clasped tight in front of her. When she finally looked up, her eyes were bright with unshed tears and determination. 

“Father, Aunt Seiros had the power to protect people, but what she required first and foremost was for them to serve her. She wanted to enact her revenge on Nemesis and bring back the Goddess, no matter the cost. I want to undo some of the hurt she caused, purposefully or not.” 

Seteth looked absolutely scandalized, his eyes wide and wild. “Flayn, how can you say such things! Seiros wanted only what was best for—”

“She was selfish, Father! She lied! She lied, she manipulated humans, everyone, for centuries! I want to help people, serve people. If our blood can—“

“I FORBID IT!” Seteth roared.

With a choked sob, Flayn threw open the door and fled the room, her footsteps echoing down the tower stairs behind her. 

—

A hesitant knock came at Seteth’s door moments later. Seething, he threw it open to send whoever it was away only to come to a sudden stop when confronted with three familiar but completely unexpected faces. 

“A-Archbishop Byleth!” He gasped, stepping back and trying to retain his composure. “You’re... Ah, you look radiant as always.”

She smiled mildly and thanked him, though she was clearly confused by his demeanor. She was indeed looking well, though. Byleth in her royal regalia was, in fact, positively resplendent. It was hard to believe that only a few years ago she had been a mercenary, then a professor and a war tactician... And now somehow royalty and what amounted to a demi-god. Even the swell of her pregnant belly under her robes seemed to add an almost other-worldly quality to her already regal appearance. The fall of her vibrant hair in elegant braids to either side of her serious, wide-eyed face reminded him quite suddenly and so sharply of his own mother he had to stop and take a bracing breath. 

Byleth was escorted dutifully by Catherine and Shamir who, while silent at this exchange, looked intensely amused at Seteth’s discomfort.

“P-please come in and sit. Traveling all this way in your condition... When did you arrive?” Setheth asked, ignoring their smirks.

“Thank you,” Byleth replied, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly. She sat gratefully on his couch with a sigh, hands crossed lightly over her middle. “We arrived about thirty minutes ago by carriage. When you weren’t in the reception hall to greet us I became a little worried.”

He bowed, sweating. “Ah, please forgive me Your Excellency! I’m afraid I’ve been embarrassingly remiss. You’re here to tour the new wing, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” she said with a slight frown. “We arranged it weeks ago, but... Is something wrong? It’s so unlike you to miss an appointment, and I heard shouting...”

He drooped slightly, looking intensely embarrassed. “Ah, many apologies... I’m afraid there was a bit of an emergency.”

“Emergency?” Byleth’s eyes widened and Catherine and Shamir’s expressions both changed instantly to alertness. “What’s happened?”

He looked down at his clasped hands, a flash of guilt passing over his features. “It’s... Miss von Ordelia. She’s taken quite ill.”

Byleth covered her mouth. “Oh... Oh no. And I just had a letter from her saying everything was going so well with her research...”

Seteth nodded slowly. “Yes, it seems her illness overwhelmed her quite suddenly last night. She’s in the infirmary now.”

“I will visit her as soon as possible,” Byleth said softly, as Catherine and Shamir exchanged a worried look over her head. “But... That doesn’t explain the yelling...”

Seteth winced. “Ah... I’m afraid I let my temper get the best of me,” he admitted. “You see, Linhardt and Hanneman... In an attempt to help Miss von Ordelia... They approached Flayn to entice her into a dangerous experimental treatment. Without my permission.”

Byleth frowned, narrowing her eyes. “I see,” she said slowly. “I can... I can discuss this issue with the Professors, if you’d like.”

Seteth bowed again. “Th-thank you, your excellency. I’m sure they would benefit greatly from your guidance.” 

Byleth nodded, then glanced back towards the door. “Flayn... I saw her for a moment dashing down the hall, but I don’t think she noticed me. She seemed very upset.”

Seteth rubbed his chin nervously. “Ah, yes, well... I’m afraid she got quite emotional when... When I forbid her from becoming involved.” 

Shamir snorted. “You know, the exact way to get a teenage girl to do something is to expressly forbid it.”

Setheth scowled at her. “I did not ask your opinion on the matter.”

Catherine laughed. “She’s right, you know! Take it from someone who was once a teenage girl with a real stubborn streak.”

Shamir raised an eyebrow. “Was once...? Have you outgrown it yet?””

“Shut up,” Catherine grumbled at her. 

“She’s... not wrong, though, Seteth,” Byleth said carefully. “Flayn is quite willful when she has a mind for it. The tour of the new wing can wait. Perhaps we should all go to the infirmary to assess the situation first.”

Seteth nodded, frowning. “O-of course, Your Excellency... But I’m sure my sister will not act without consulting me again.”

—

“I’ll do it,” Flayn said, “I’ll help you.”

Hanneman and Linhardt took in her tearful, flushed appearance, looked at each other, and then back at her. 

“Miss Flayn,” Hanneman said slowly, “We do appreciate your support, of course, but your brother—“

“My brother does not own me,” she said with a barely audible quaver in her voice. 

“Yes, well...” Linhardt said lightly, “He does employ us, however.” 

Flayn ignored him and instead went to Lysithea’s side. Cyril scooted over to give her space to sit on the edge of the bed.

“How is she?”

“She’s sleeping again,” he said, voice low and rough. “She can barely stay awake...”

Flayn looked down at Lysithea’s pale, drawn features. She touched her gently on the forehead and after a moment the soft light of a healing spell lit up the corner of the room. 

“That won’t do much, I’m afraid,” Linhardt said softly. “The power of her crests is basically eating her from the inside out. Regular healing magic can’t keep up with it anymore. I’ve been spelling her all night, supplementing with potions and herbal treatments... But it’s like pouring water through a sieve.”

Cyril’s shoulders shook and he slowly leaned down to bury his head in his hands. 

Flayn closed her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks, and a brighter surge of power flowed into the room from her hand. 

Linhardt blinked, then came to assess the change. 

“It’s still not enough,” Flayn said softly. “But maybe... it will buy us a little more time.”

Linhardt sighed and nodded slowly. “I’m afraid we are just delaying the inevitable at this point.”

Cyril sobbed. 

“Take a blood sample from me,” Flayn said firmly, not looking away from Lysithea.

Linhardt sighed. “Flayn, your brother—“

She turned to him with pleading eyes, her arm out in clear offer. “Please! I promise I won’t let him fire you. This is my decision. Please take it!”

“But—“

It was then that the Archbishop stepped into the room.

“You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Linhardt muttered.

—

After a shocked silence and a long, serious conversation, Byleth stood and announced that she would give a blood sample herself. 

“Your excellency!” Seteth sputtered nervously, “Th-that’s very generous of you, but I strongly advise against it. Your condition...”

“I’m pregnant, not an invalid. Here,” she said firmly, rolling up the sleeve of her robe. “Take it.”

Hanneman and Linhardt quickly burst into action, shoving aside stacks of books and papers to make room for the testing equipment on the infirmary desk. They extracted a small drop of blood from Byleth and another from Lysithea. 

They stood conferring over an array of test tubes, beakers, and magical devices for some minutes. Finally, they returned to the group, looking grim.

“Unfortunately you’re not a match, Your Majesty,” Linhardt said. “And even if you were, I’m afraid adding your crest of flames into the equation would be extremely dangerous. It’s so rare and powerful and her condition is so delicate now, the results could be disastrous.”

“Try mine,” Catherine said immediately. “She has a crest of Charon, right? Would that make mine compatible?”

The rest of the gathered group considered her. Shamir looked at her with almost begrudging respect.

“We can certainly try and find out,” Hanneman said. “But I’m afraid it’s not just a matter of crest compatibility. The blood type must also be—“

“Enough blabbering, just try it,” Catherine demanded.

“Try mine as well,” Shamir offered standing up beside her. 

Catherine grinned at her. 

Linhardt and Hanneman repeated the testing procedures swiftly on both of them, but the results were the same. Still no match. 

The group stood in the center of the room gathered around Lysithea’s bed looking solemn. She slept fitfully, fists clenched and face pinched tight. Cyril took her hand in his, rubbing a thumb over the back of her hand.

“Her other crest is Gloucester, right? Perhaps we should contact Lorenz.”

“I’m afraid we may not have time,” Hanneman said gently. “Miss Flayn’s blessing is holding things at bay for now, but...”

“I’m sorry I can’t help more,” Flayn said tearfully. “It’s one thing to heal natural sickness... This is quite another. What they’ve done to her is... completely beyond me. It’s an abomination.”

Lysithea opened her eyes for a moment and they all drew a collective breath. “What are you all looking so worried about?” She asked softly. 

Cyril lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Who do you think?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper. “We’re trying to save you.”

She smiled at him weakly. “You’ve done your best,” she said. “That’s all you can do. But thank you... For everything. I really... I really thought we had a chance.”

“We did. We do!”

She smiled again, but her eyes were drooping quickly shut again. “Oh,” she said, as if realizing something on the edge of a dream, “I really did want to marry you. If only we had more time...”

She fell back into a deep sleep, her breath slow and labored. 

Cyril clutched her hand in his for a moment then stood up, eyes bright. “I can take a wyvern to Gloucester now and be back by tomorrow. Can you keep her stable until then?”

Flayn and Linhardt exchanged a worried look. “We can try,” she said finally. “But Cyril, you should stay. What if she...” She paused and took a deep breath. “You should stay with her. Just in case.”

They all were all silent for a long, dreadful moment.

Slowly, Seteth stood up and offered his arm. “Take a sample from me.”

The rest of them stared at him in shock. 

“Br-brother...” Flayn said in awe. “You...”

“Go ahead,” he said softly. “Take it before I change my mind. And if it doesn’t work, I’ll take a wyvern to the Gloucester territory myself.”

Linhardt and Hanneman silently took a sample and bent back over their equipment one more time. 

The test results came back a few moments later. 

Linhardt and Hanneman stared at their equipment for a long time, conferring in urgent, hushed tones. They ran the test again just to be sure, but the results were clear. 

“You’re a match, sir,” Hanneman said carefully. 

Cyril’s eyes went wide. “That... That means—!”

“It means we can proceed with the experimental treatment,” Linhardt said tiredly. “There is still no certainty whether or not the treatment will have the intended effect. But... Well, we have a chance now.” He looked up at Seteth with a slow, considering expression. “If you will agree to participate further, that is.” 

Seteth had gone white as a sheet. “I...” he started, looking around at the tense, hopeful faces surrounding him. Flayn squeezed his hand in hers. He seemed to sink into himself a little. Finally, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

“Of course I will,” he said. “What do you require?”


	7. Dawn Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth and Flayn reconcile. Cyril stress-cleans. The experimental treatment begins, but will it be too little too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for blood, needles, PTSD-like symptoms, and intense medical treatment.
> 
> Also, it’s #CysitheaWeek2020 on Twitter! If you are enjoying this story please check out some awesome content by other creators on the tag there!

“Father...?” Flayn said softly from the doorway to the headmaster’s office.

Seteth looked up from his desk where he was digging through his paperwork. “Oh, Flayn. Please, come in.”

The procedure would begin in just a few hours, as soon as Hanneman and Linhardt could setup the equipment and make their arrangements. In the meantime, Seteth was making his own preparations. He had taken off his normal church robes and diadem and was dressed only in a plain, loose whiteshirt and black trousers which made him seem younger and uncharacteristically vulnerable. 

Flayn entered and quietly closed the door behind her. She stood right inside the threshold of the room for a moment, staring at him with a slight frown on her small, pretty face.

“What is it, my dear?” He asked.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I just... I want to know why. Why did you change your mind to help Lysithea?”

He smiled sadly and sighed as if he had been expecting this. He got up and stood beside his desk. “Come here,” he said gently. “And I’ll tell you.”

She padded slowly across the room to stand in front of him, watching him with wide, hopeful eyes. 

He took her hand. “Perhaps you think me a hypocrite?” He said slowly. “And perhaps I am one, indeed. But when I saw young Miss von Ordelia ready time give up, and her young man so upset by it all... I couldn’t only think about the last days of your dear mother’s life, and how I would have done anything to save her if I had the power.”

Tears filled Flayn’s eyes. “F-father...”

“And young Edelgard, before things went so wrong... Lindardt mentioned that she, too, suffered from a similar affliction to Miss von Ordelia. If we had known, if we had helped her back then...”

Flayn shook her head, thick curls swaying. “We had no way of knowing about that...!”

He sighed. “I’m not so sure... There’s so much Rhea kept from me... Too many unanswered questions. But I know this much: too many atrocities have been committed in my lifetime. One cannot turn back time, and helping just one person may not be enough to atone, but...” 

He paused and took a deep, shaking breath.

“Perhaps I, too, have a soft, foolish heart,” he admitted quietly. 

Flayn flung herself against him, hugging him tight. “Oh, Father...! I love you!”

He gathered her into his arms. “I love you too, my dear. I’m sorry about before. You are so very wise, do you know that? I will endeavor to take your council on how we can serve our people better in the future.”

She squeezed him again and sobbed. 

—

Cyril, too, was making preparations. He spoke with his teachers to let them know he would possibly be missing a few classes, ate a rather solemn meal with Shamir, Catherine, and Byleth, and then gave them a quick tour of the newly built wing of the monastery. After they bid him goodbye in the reception hall, requesting frequent and thorough reports, he found himself wandering into the chapel. 

The large hall was nearly empty this time of day when everyone else was attending classes or tea time, with only a few monks puttering around and tidying the alcoves. Without thinking much about it, he took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, picked up a spare mop and started cleaning. 

He had never made a habit of praying despite his devotion to Lady Rhea, but there was something meditative about the rhythmic motion of the mop, the sudsy water, the cold stone floor glistening in the light of all the candles. It felt good. It felt productive. It felt purposeful. 

He paused in front of the altar and stood there staring at the space where Lady Rhea often gave counsel. There was no doubt that Byleth was a worthy successor, but she spent much of her time at the Riegan estate in Derdriu while Claude was away in Almyra. Cyril did not blame her, of course, especially while she was with child. Still, seeing that space left empty made him feel hollow. No matter what anyone said, Lady Rhea had once been everything to him. Could he ever come close to repaying his debt to her? Would she be proud of the life he was just starting to build? To become a student in her academy and soon a knight in service to her church had once seemed like a faraway dream. Somehow, through perseverance, hard work, and the great generosity of his comrades, he had almost made it. And yet...

“Lady Rhea,” he said softly to the empty altar. “Will any of it be worth it... without Lysithea?” 

He had lost so much in his short life, the thought of losing her, too, seemed almost unbearable. 

“Please... If you’re up there in the clouds or afterlife or wherever... Please let the treatment work. I know I’ve already asked too much, you’ve already given me so much but... Just this one more thing?”

The empty altar did not answer.

He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and finished mopping. 

—

Hanneman and Linhardt started the treatment late that afternoon. They had moved Lysithea carefully back to the crestology lab where the rest of their equipment remained within easier access. They consulted her notes and sketches with great care and explained the procedure to Seteth, who grew paler and more resigned as the details were laid out. 

“It will take at least a few days, possibly weeks,” Hanneman said. “We will have to see how much she can handle at once, and how much we can use you as well. I’m afraid it will be rather uncomfortable and tiring. Have you eaten anything yet this afternoon? You’ll need your strength.”

Flayn left to procure a meal from the kitchens and returned with a basket of sandwiches that must have been nearly twice her weight. After they all ate in hasty silence, they began the process in earnest. 

They hooked Seteth up to a machine that drew the blood from his body, ran it through a series of dizzying contraptions, and then finally directly into Lysithea herself in a rather alarming amount of tubes. All the while Linhardt and Flayn were chanting spells over her in turn, one switching out after the other. 

Purifying, healing, blessing and healing again, over and over. Cyril sat beside her, watching the proceedings in a mixture of awe and horror.

After a few hours of this, some of the color began to return to Lysithea’s features. She blinked slowly awake. 

“Wh... What’s going on?”

“Shh,” Cyril said soothingly. “We got you a match. They’re doing the transplant now.”

Her eyes widened, looking down at herself and the restraints across her body and the array of tubing in alarm. “Y-you mean the transfusion?”

He nodded. “Yeah, that.”

She began to shake again, her expression one of pure terror. “Oh gods,” she gasped, “Oh, this... This is...! Oh... This is just like before. I thought it would be different, but oh... Oh Cyril, let me out! Please let me out!!”

“Hey, hey!” He said, squeezing her hand. “Don’t freak out! We’re helping you!”

“Oh gods, th-this is... I... I think I might be sick.”

Flayn rushed to her side with a bucket.

Lysithea vomited profusely and then promptly passed out again.

“What’s wrong? Isn’t it working?” Cyril asked, voice thin with worry. 

Hanneman shook his head. “It’s working, but right now her body is overwhelmed. Her blood has the power of three crests in it for now. It’s likely to cause her some temporary distress.”

“Can’t you hurry it up? You said two of them were eating her up, and now you put a third one in there?!”

“As I said, it’s temporary. It is an unfortunate part of the process, and she may get worse before she gets better. We just have to wait and pray she begins to respond positively soon.”

So they waited.

Lysithea got worse. Much worse.

Over the next few days she fluctuated in and out of consciousness and was nearly overcome with nausea and fever. She could barely eat or sleep, and when she was awake, she was completely delirious, screaming and thrashing like a caged animal.

Flayn and Linhardt did their best to work shifts at healing and resting in between to stabilize her, but they were soon flagging. They sent summons to other trusted healers, but it would be several days before they could hope for relief. Seteth was also looking exceptionally pale and thin, and no matter how much he ate he was ravenously hungry.

Then Lysithea’s hair began to fall out. 

“Oh saints,” Cyril said, holding a loose bundle of white hair in one hand. “You’re killing her. You’re killing her! You’ve got to stop!”

Hanneman took him out into the courtyard until he calmed down. 

The next week was exhausting and terrifying. They almost lost her too many times to count.

But on the last day of the year, Lysithea woke up with clear eyes. 

Her fever was gone, and so was her hair.


End file.
